


poetry in your body

by allegrolines



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Banter, Clothed Sex, Destiny!era, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegrolines/pseuds/allegrolines
Summary: They are no strangers to the way the adrenaline after a performance can quickly turn into lust, but have always waited to be somewhere private before doing something about it. A shiver makes Howon’s hair stand on end. There’s no one in sight, but the place feels too overt and exposed. Someone could run into them, he thinks. They could be discovered at any given moment, and if that happened—“Have you lost your mind?” he asks. Something is frizzling underneath his skin like static. Warmth trickles down to his groin, honey-slow. Against his better judgement, Howon feels his cock twitch and begin to harden.“Yes,” Woohyun replies in a rush, leaning in and kissing him again.





	

Howon drops to his last pose at the end of the choreography, feeling the slickness of sweat dripping down his chest and back when he stops moving. His outfit swirls around his knees and hangs over the curve of his legs. He stays still until the spotlights go off and the director wraps up their pre-recording; it’s only then that Howon allows himself to pant for air and wipe the back of his hand across his forehead. He grimaces—his skin is slippery, and he feels overwarm despite the sleeveless top that he’s wearing. Still, he takes the time to bow to the fans crowded together around the stage, waving at them before he walks down the stairs, past the curtains leading to the back of the room.

Each step he takes comes with a swish of fabric. Howon peels off his gloves and gives them to one of the managers, shaking his hands to cool them down. He spots Myungsoo and Dongwoo ahead of him and follows them absently, already going over the performance in his head. He isn’t expecting someone to take him by the elbow and tug him to the side, away from the cluster of people. His first instinct is to yank his arm off, then one finger swipes over the jut of his joint, gentle and soothing, and Howon realizes who it belongs to. 

Even though it’s dark, he can tell that Woohyun's looking right at him, the turn of a smile in his mouth. The noise fades away as they leave the stage and the waiting rooms behind, walking towards an emergency exit—an unused one, Howon guesses, since it’s out of the way, and he doesn’t remember seeing it before. Woohyun pushes it open without hesitation, pulling him into an empty landing between two flights of stairs. Sunlight pours in through the tall windows overhead, so bright and sudden that it blinds Howon; he shades his eyes and blinks a few times, trying to get used to it. Woohyun moves closer—so close, in fact, that when Howon finally stares up at him, Woohyun’s face is blurry around the edges

“What’s this?” he says, confused. “We’re—”

Woohyun kisses him, swallowing down the rest of the sentence, stealing Howon’s breath. It doesn’t last long; Woohyun is a dark shade of red when he pulls away. “I—I just—” he stammers. “Howon-ah—”

They are no strangers to the way the adrenaline after a performance can quickly turn into lust, but have always waited to be somewhere private before doing something about it. A shiver makes Howon’s hair stand on end. There’s no one in sight, but the place feels too overt and exposed. Someone could run into them, he thinks. They could be discovered at any given moment, and if that happened—

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks. Something is frizzling underneath his skin like static. Warmth trickles down to his groin, honey-slow. Against his better judgement, Howon feels his cock twitch and begin to harden.

“Yes,” Woohyun replies in a rush, leaning in and kissing him again.

It’s easy to predict what he is going to do. One step back and Howon would be out of his reach—he knows that Woohyun wouldn’t attempt to stop him, if he turned around and left. “We’re in public,” he whispers, not moving away. His lips brush against Woohyun’s as he speaks.

“I know, but—” Woohyun’s expression does something complicated, like he’s also feeling conflicted. “The staircase is closed,” he says. “The only way in is through that door.”

That settles some of the nervous energy buzzing at the bottom of Howon’s stomach. “And what about time?” he hears himself say.

“We don’t have a lot,” Woohyun answers. “Maybe half an hour?”

“The dorm—”

“No,” Woohyun cuts in, looking almost guilty. “No, it—Now. It has to be now.”

Heat flares in Howon’s chest. His heart rolls like drum. “Why?”

The tip of Woohyun’s tongue flickers into view; his bottom lip shines, wet and pink. His fingers clench, tangled in Howon’s shirt. “Because—” he mumbles, ducking his head. “It has to be before we get changed.”

For a moment Howon just stares at him. Woohyun is still in his stage clothes, and the trim, compact cut of his waist is brought out by the straps of the harness buckled tightly around his shirt. But if he’s still in his stage clothes, then Howon is also wearing his, and that can only mean—

“The skirt,” he says flatly. “Is that—? _Seriously_?”

“Yeah, _seriously_ ,” Woohyun replies, pursing his lips in a half-pout. “Do I look like I’m joking, Howon-ah?”

His voice is low and even. There’s the little wrinkle of a frown between his eyebrows. “Why?” Howon asks. He glances down at the black pleats of fabric covering his thighs.

Woohyun’s mulish expression melts into confusion. “What?”

“The skirt,” Howon repeats. The words catch in his throat, like he’s speaking through a layer of soundproofing, pushing them past acoustic foam. Woohyun has never mentioned wanting to do something like this before. “Is it a thing? For you?”

A thought scratches at the back of his mind. It’s been years since he was a kid, but his body remembers the exact shape it used to be back then, scrawny and short, prone to getting sick often. Even now, Howon can still see bits and pieces of that boy in the lines of his own wrists and ankles, thin and small. He doesn’t believe that’s the reason Woohyun’s hands are braced at each side of his ribcage, but suddenly he can’t stop himself from wondering how Woohyun must see him whenever Howon catches him staring—or every time he sneaks into Howon’s bunk late at night to light up Howon’s skin with the pads of his fingers and murmur endearments into his mouth. 

Does he see the sinewy strength of Howon’s limbs? His fine-boned frame? A mix of both?

“ _No_ ,” Woohyun blurts out. “I just—Do you have any idea of how you look when you move? Especially when you’re dancing?” His voice gets gentler as he speaks. “It—it’s _beautiful_ , Howon-ah,” he continues, low and earnest. “And I—I’ve wanted this since we shot the music video. Since the first time I saw you dressed like this. But it’s not the skirt, it’s _you_.” He takes Howon’s hands in his and laces their fingers together. “It’s not just because of how you look in it, but also because of how it looks on you.”

Each syllable is heavy and measured, even though Woohyun keeps tripping over them. “Aren’t those things the same?” Howon asks. He doesn’t think he can flush harder—not without his face combusting, at least.

“Maybe,” Woohyun admits with a tilt of his head. He cracks a tiny grin. “I’m not thinking very clearly right now. But—” His smile blooms into a full-blown beam. “You know what I mean, right?”

Howon tugs him in, pulling on their linked hands. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Their two previous kisses had been rushed, fleeting things—the third one is not. Woohyun melts into him, parting his lips for the curl of Howon’s tongue, moaning when it brushes the roof of his mouth. He laughs when their own momentum makes them knock against the doorframe, feeling like a live wire in Howon’s arms.

“Howon-ah,” he says. His breath is shallow and his eyes are closed. He touches Howon’s cheeks, his shoulders, his stomach. “Howonie, can I—?”

The unfinished question hangs between them, its meaning clear as glass. Woohyun’s fingers are burning a ten-point pattern on his lower belly. Howon swallows. He nips at Woohyun’s lips one more time. “Yes,” he replies into the kiss.

A moment later he’s sitting down and leaning back on the wall, watching Woohyun’s hands slide up his thighs and under the hem of the skirt. The fabric drapes over Woohyun’s forearms as he palms the waistband of Howon’s leggings and peels them off together with his boxers, pushing them down and leaving them bunched around Howon’s calves. Woohyun moves to straddle his legs and sit on him, just below Howon’s knees. His weight keeps Howon pinned in place—the floor is cool and dusty, but Woohyun is looking at him like Howon is a gift he can’t wait to start unwrapping.

“So this is what you wanted,” Howon says. “Since LA?”

“I always want you,” Woohyun answers. Before Howon can chide him for misunderstanding the question on purpose, Woohyun drags his hands up again, baring Howon’s thighs, his groin and hipbones. “It’s much softer than I expected,” he says thoughtfully, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He lets it fall so it pools around Howon’s cock. “And much lighter.”

Every shift of the skirt feels like the whisper of a tease on Howon’s skin. “One of the others is heavier,” he says. Woohyun runs two knuckles up the underside of his shaft, making Howon tremble. “Depends on the outfit.”

“I like this one,” Woohyun replies, wrapping his fingers around the head and sliding them down to the base.

Perhaps it should be weirder to be talking like this while both of them are hard and Woohyun is stroking him, his hold careful and loose, but— 

“I like it too,” Howon says. His hips twitch, trying to thrust up into Woohyun’s grip. His voice sounds breathy already. “It’s less—stiff.”

Woohyun’s wrist twists on the next pull, squeezing around Howon’s cock. Howon gasps. “Speaking of stiff,” Woohyun says.

“No— _ah_ —No sex jokes during sex, Woohyunie,” he chuckles. 

“My bad,” Woohyun says, pressing his thumb down on Howon’s slit.

Howon’s back arches up. “ _Hyunnie_.” He hooks one hand on the nape of Woohyun’s neck and tugs him down, catching Woohyun’s mouth with his, all teeth and tongue. “Oh,” Howon pants. “ _Oh_. You—I need—”

Woohyun shakes his head. “I can’t go too fast without lube,” he says ruefully, kissing Howon’s eyelids, mouthing at his temple. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve been planning to do this for _months_ ,” Howon protests, “and you didn’t even get prepared properly today?”

The pace of Woohyun’s strokes stutters. He pulls back to stare right into Howon’s eyes. “Lee Howon-ssi,” he says, his face lighting up with delight. “Did you just imply I should’ve had _lube_ with me while we were recording? On stage? In front of all the cameras?”

“That’s not—”

“For one thing, these clothes don’t have pockets,” Woohyun continues, as if Howon hadn’t spoken. “Also, considering my track record with wardrobe mishaps—” He trails off and smiles to himself, like he’s recalling a private joke. “I’d better not push my luck, don’t you think?”

“You talk so much.” Howon grins at Woohyun, fondness washing over him. It feels like stepping into tub filled with warm water. “Just—Touch me. Please.”

Woohyun tightens his fingers. “I’m already touching you,” he reminds Howon, his hand gliding up and down Howon’s cock, his grip just firm enough to give Howon some of the friction he needs, but not enough to be painful. Woohyun is breathing hard, his kiss-bitten mouth slack and swollen. His eyes are trained on the folds of fabric framing Howon’s erection. “You look so good like this,” he says, his voice pitched low. “You _are_ so good.”

Howon flushes to the tips of his fingers. “Don’t start,” he mutters, ducking his head.

“Ah.” Woohyun nuzzles into his hair, jerking him off faster. “But you’re always great, Howon-ah. No matter what you do.”

It’s nothing he hasn’t said before, after practice or a performance—even in bed, whispering in Howon’s ear until he goes hoarse—but it never fails to get Howon fired up. He feels himself throb in Woohyun’s hand. His heart flutters, light and effervescent. “I can take more,” he says, because he wants to come so badly he’s shaking with it. 

Woohyun kisses him, closed mouthed, surprisingly gentle. He slows down his strokes—there’s a rustle, followed by the graze of something cool and soft around Howon’s cock. 

The lining of the skirt is satiny, almost slippery on his skin. Howon’s moan echoes in the stairs, high and throaty. The pressure of Woohyun’s hand turns heavier, tighter. The fabric slides along Howon’s shaft, caught under Woohyun’s fingers. Only the head of his cock is still uncovered, dark and full with blood. Howon throws one arm over his eyes and gasps for air, bucking up against Woohyun. 

Trust him to throw Howon a curve ball like this.

“D’you like it?” Woohyun whispers. He sounds very close. His lips caress Howon’s left cheekbone. “Does it feel nice, Howonie?”

 _Nice_ is too small a word to encompass the way Howon’s coherent thoughts are all washed away, bursting like sparklers. It feels strange and unfamiliar, but in a way that makes his whole body thrum with pleasure. Sweat drips down his neck. His mouth goes dry. His hands clench and unclench. His legs shift against each other. His toes curl in his boots. “ _Yes_ ,” he manages to choke out.

Woohyun laughs somewhere over him, a little rough. Howon drops his arm to look at him—Woohyun has sat up and is crawling back, easing his weight off Howon and bending over him, showing off the perfect slope of his spine. He pets one of Howon’s thighs with his free hand, scratching his nails against the paler skin next to his groin. Howon watches the three faint pink lines Woohyun leaves behind fade a moment later. 

He wonders if Woohyun feels as desperate as himself; if he’s just doing his best to hold back, to keep his own want in check so he can watch Howon fall apart first. 

“Good,” Woohyun says under his breath, dropping kisses on Howon’s knees. He leans in to bite on Howon’s hipbone—his shirt hangs open, revealing the dip of his collarbones and the plane of his chest, the peak of a nipple. The wings of his shoulder blades ripple as he closes his lips over Howon’s cock and sucks the head into his mouth.

Howon comes on the next stroke, pinned to the floor, his face turned to the ceiling, muffling a groan against the heel of his hand. He rides the high of it for a long, shuddery moment, whimpering at the wet, hot press of Woohyun’s tongue. The muscles of his stomach twitch. He reaches out to touch the vulnerable curve of Woohyun’s neck, combing the fine hairs at the base of his skull with shaky fingers. Woohyun keeps sucking lightly around him. Howon’s lungs burn; he pants, slumped against the wall.

“C’mere,” he croaks, running his fingers down Woohyun’s jawline. Woohyun lets go of him and lifts his face, his pupils blown wide. Howon shivers when the air hits his damp skin. “Come on.”

Woohyun obeys, moving clumsily, and kneels over Howon’s lap, his legs at either side of Howon’s. Howon wraps his arms around him to hold him close, sighing contentedly when his nose rubs against Woohyun’s breastbone. He smells like salt and a hint of body wash. Howon cups the outline of Woohyun cock through his pants.

“Don’t,” Woohyun says, wriggling against him. “Stop, please. I don’t—I can’t come in this outfit.”

That wouldn’t be easy, nor ideal, to explain to the staff. Howon takes his hand away. “Are you sure—?”

“We need to go,” Woohyun insists. He picks himself up, wobbling a little when he stands, and winces when he glances down at himself. They both look kind of ridiculous, with their clothes half-undone and covered in lint. Woohyun starts to dust off his pants.

“Woohyunie,” Howon calls him, raising to his feet and rushing to pull his underwear and tights back in place. He smooths down the skirt. It feels wrong to leave knowing that he has done very little for Woohyun yet, especially after how good Woohyun has made him feel. His hesitation must show on his face, because Woohyun’s expression softens right away.

“You’ll make it up to me later,” he says, squeezing Howon’s shoulder. “I can think of different ways for you to do that, if you want.” His lips slant into a smirk. “Wait, I have one already—You could do my chores for the rest of the month.”

“Really,” Howon says.

“What about foot massages for the next two weeks?”

“Maybe you should keep thinking,” Howon replies.

Woohyun’s smile goes small and sweet. “I’ll work hard, Hoya-ssi,” he says, an amused lilt in his voice. “Are we ready?”

“Does it look like I’ve just had sex in a hallway?”

“This is a staircase,” Woohyun points out distractedly, checking that none of the buckles of his harness has come undone. He looks up, then, and gestures for Howon to get close. “Let me just—” he says, running his fingers through Howon’s bangs. “Yeah, that’s better. Turn around?” Howon complies, spinning slowly. “Everything seems fine,” Woohyun tells him when they end up face to face again. “How about me?”

“I think we’re clear,” Howon says. 

Just like before—Howon wonders if it has been half an hour yet, like Woohyun said earlier; he has lost track of time completely—Woohyun takes his hand and guides him through the door. Unlike then, now it’s darkness what surrounds Howon like a cloak. He takes short steps, careful of where he puts his feet, resigning himself to fumbling around until his eyes adjust again. 

He’s still walking blindly when Woohyun stops and pulls him in without warning, sliding his arms around Howon and hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs against Howon’s skin, so quietly that Howon almost misses it. Their cheeks are pressed together; Woohyun’s feels hot against his. “It was just what I wanted, whenever I thought about—” Woohyun’s voice wavers.

Howon holds him around the waist and gives him a moment to collect himself, rubbing circles between his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything—there’s very little that Howon wouldn’t give to Woohyun, but he understands how difficult it can be to ask for the things that matter; to open up and tell the other _I want this_ , even between the two of them. His chest aches, heavy with affection.

“Chicken feet,” Woohyun says, a handful of seconds later, gently disentangling himself from Howon’s arms. He pecks the corner of Howon’s mouth. “Come on, we should turn here to avoid the stage,” he adds, tugging at Howon’s wrist as he starts walking again.

“Chicken feet?” Howon asks, following his lead.

“To make it up to me,” Woohyun replies. “Buy me chicken feet.”

That sounds simple enough, Howon thinks. “I can order some later.”

“No, that’s not it. You should get them at a restaurant. I mean—We should go to a restaurant. Together. Alone. To have chicken feet.”

Howon wishes he could see Woohyun’s face, although he can picture how flustered he must look just by his voice. “Woohyunie,” he says. “Are you asking me to ask you out?”

There’s a pause. “What do you think?” Howon hears him mumble. 

Woohyun lets go of his forearm just before they rejoin the bustle of the broadcasting station, ducking his head to greet one of the cameramen he’s familiar with. The corridors are full of familiar faces. Howon waits for him, nodding to the people passing by while the two of them exchange pleasantries.

“Hey,” he says, once Woohyun has said goodbye and they are back on their way to the group’s dressing room, “we haven’t gone out for lunch in a while.”

Woohyun bites his bottom lip, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Yeah?” 

“Mm-hmm. Let’s go eat chicken feet, whenever we get a break.” Howon is much better at faking casualness, but Woohyun’s grin is big and contagious. He ends up cracking, too. “My treat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sia’s “Move Your Body”


End file.
